


falling into place

by orphan_account



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, young!sinja
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The scars run deep, the ones you have and the ones you’ve inflicted on others."</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling into place

**Author's Note:**

> (NOTE: ja'far is 20 and sinbad is 24 here

_Cold... It's cold..._

_Where...?_

You grab your arms and hold them tightly, your fingers digging in between the worn, red wires; it's so cold, why is it—?

Close your eyes. You can endure this, just ignore it. You've dealt with temperatures like this before, this should be nothing for you.

_But... Why does it...—?_

You feel ten years old again, wearing nothing but the torn bandages on your face and the ripped linen, sewn back together by you yourself, on your back. The wires are taut and you do not let them leave your skin unless you are under attack, or ready to kill.

Everything falls away for a moment.

_It's still cold, why, damn... it..._

You close your fists, hunch over into a ball, force yourself to ignore it. You're so cold, you can't tell if it's the brutal winter nights or the lack of—

Affection?

...No, no, that's not it. You never got such a thing as a child. You know cold, but you cannot recognize affection. That is...

You hear something.

Electricity runs through your veins for the slightest moment, nerves hyperaware within nanoseconds. You strain your ears into the silence, and the sound gets closer; it's your voice, you're crying, you're... calling for your parents?

_"Mama... Papa... Where are you..."_

The crying gets closer, and you realize—ahh, that's right, isn't it? You… killed your parents when you were six years old. That's why you don't know affection; your heart was frozen a long, long time ago. The cold, harsh reality hits you slowly, making you remember. Born into a family under the orders of the organization, it's what you had to do if you wanted to survive, if you wanted to continue living.

_Living? Yeah, right. It’s so cold, and I... can't feel anything... This is as good as death...,_

The crying fades away, and you hear another voice. It's gentle, alluring, and familiar. You… know this voice very well.

_"Don’t die…"_

Your heart thuds dully within your chest.

_"Not yet…"_

The suffocatingly cold air dissipates around you, your wires feel lighter, the warmth seeps back into your legs and arms, you don't feel so numb anymore, and in mild shock, you look up.

A pair of golden amber eyes are looking at you, flaming with passion and determination, and you remember.

"Brat… no— _Ja'far_!!!!"

 

You awake with a gasp.

Your field of vision returns to you, blurry at first, and you blink the sleepiness away as you look around the dim, candlelit room in confusion. Glancing down, you notice your hand pressed to a scroll, the other gripping the feather pen so tightly your knuckles are white. Working during sleep once again, you see.

You let your arms go limp. You feel sore.

The pen falls with a clatter, and you sigh as you rub your temples, groaning softly. The sleepiness is so overwhelming that it's giving you a headache.

You fell asleep during work. You hope no one saw, otherwise they wouldn't let you hear the end of it. Always urging you to take breaks—there is no time for such a thing when there is work to be done.

A breeze blows through the room, causing the candle at your desk to go out. You blink in shock, then turn around to face a completely open window. Slumping, you realize you must have fallen asleep around evening, when the weather was still warm. Now that it's late, it's absolutely freezing.

You push the chair back and wander over to the window to close it with an _oof_.

"That's better. Now then..."

Suddenly, there's a knock at your door, and you immediately shift into attack mode, gripping your rope darts tightly in either hand.

"Who's there?"

"It's me."

Your muscles relax.

"Come in."

The door opens with a slow _creak_ , and Sin enters.

"Evening, Ja'far. You're up late." he greets casually, walking over to you. You shake your sleeves back over your forearms to hold your hands together in front of you.

"I was working. You, on the other hand..." you sniff the air around him, then grimace. "You smell of alcohol, Sin."

He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ahh, well see, about that, I don't want to surprise you—"

"I am not surprised in the slightest." A long sigh. "Why are you here, if I may ask?"

"Well,” he looks at you for a second before gesturing to the window. “I was walking outside when I noticed your window was wide open. Strange, because you're usually very careful about that. It's very late, too, so I decided to check up on you."

"I'm fine." You state, then look to the side. "I appreciate your concern, Sin..."

There's a moment's silence; he studies you closely, and you look over at him. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, behind him, stretching all the way to the door.  It’s dark, and while candlelight is tolerable, this isn’t so bad either.

"Hey, Ja'far..." he reaches over slowly, touches your cheek. You flinch out of instinct but do nothing more. "You're white as a sheet. Are you alright?" Sin's hand brushes your neck briefly, and he furrows his eyebrows, alarmed. "God, you're freezing! What on earth happened to you?"

You blink, then close your eyes in silent understanding. You almost laugh.

"Freezing, huh..."

"Yes, why is that? Well, your window was open so it's no wonder—here, Ja'far." Sin ushers you over to your bed and sits you down before joining. You grip your arms tightly, your dream coming back to you now.

"Did you fall asleep while working? That would explain a lot, actually—"

"Sin." You say his name firmly, and he turns to you, blinking. "I'm alright, so please calm down."

He stares at you with careful eyes, then nods in understanding. He lets go of you.

"...Right. Sorry about that, Ja'far."

"It's fine," you smile wryly, glancing at the hands resting in his lap. "I'm... a bit relieved you came."

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"...Something of the sort."

"I'm glad I came as well, then."

"Yes..."

You stare at the floor, a pained expression on your face. Almost reluctantly, you let yourself fall to the side, your cheek softly hitting Sin's shoulder. He laughs gently, hand coming up to pet your head.

"You haven't changed at all since you were young," he says in this nostalgic tone that almost makes you even more sad. Something tugs at your heart, and you grip your arms even tighter. "I assume you won't tell me what you dreamt of?"

You remain silent. You don't really want to say.

He gives it a moment, then clicks his tongue. "Well, there's no helping it, is there?"

 _There isn’t_ , you think to yourself, furrowing your brow. There is no way you’d be able to tell Sin that you still dream of _that day_ , that no matter how much time has passed, the impact he has left on you, your life, your will to live— it had never disappeared. The change was too huge; the discomfort, regret, _filth_ you feel from those days... Even now, when you hold your blades in either hand, it all comes back to you. You could be cutting away soiled bandages, trimming your hair, or assassinating someone under his orders— no matter what, the memories flood back in vivid flashes of red and black, not knowing the difference between life and death, only “orders” and “survival”.  A part of you is terrified, terrified knowing that when someone dies at the strike of your own hands, you barely feel a thing. Only afterwards do you reflect on it. Things like, _it’s for the good of the country_ , yes, maybe so, but at the end of it all, you are an assassin. A cold-blooded murderer.

Sin gave you a choice. To follow him and his dream, or, Al Thamen and their destruction of this world? At first, you only chose Sin because you thought he was _interesting_. If you had stayed, there’s no telling what could have happened. You would have broke, surely; if not from the Dark Djinn that took over your body, then from all the sins you had committed.

(But those sins... They haven’t disappeared, have they?)

Being a government official of a country won’t wash away the invisible blood on your hands. It won’t thaw your frozen heart or shake your apathy when killing. There is no escape from your past; not even your dreams will allow you to forget.

_It’s freezing._

“Ja’far.”

You flinch violently, blinking rapidly as you look up and around you. Sin has his hand on your shoulder, concerned.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

You swallow, feeling disoriented. The clammy feeling of your hands makes you tremble, the _cold_ , it’s overwhelming, even with your king touching your skin. His light, his _heat_ , it becomes nullified by your darkness, something that seeps through despite your status as a general. Each time you feel anger, it escapes in tiny, unpredictable and explosive bursts. Each time you kill, each time you are splattered with blood that is not your own, each time you are insulted or looked down upon, each time _he_ is threatened—

“Sin—,” His name tumbles out of your mouth in a hurried panic, your hands grasping for his. Sin blinks in confusion at you, worry in every shadow of his face.

“Ja’far, what’s— God, you’re _still_ cold; what’s going on with you?!”

You tremble, gripping his shirt in your fists. You seek warmth, _something_ to pull you away from this insanity, this lifetime of killing and guilt, something that will make it _stop_ —

He pulls you close and holds you tightly, your thin torso shivering like a leaf against his broad chest. You feel safe; he _has_ been keeping you safe for the last ten years. You used to go nights on end without dinner, drinking and spitting out poison for years, growing immune to its deadly effects, and for what? The security you feel from being near invincible, it keeps you grounded, but it is merely physical. Nothing compares to the _emotional_ —you are far from being invincible, even after all these years. You had thought that those damn fears and longings were hammered down ever since you killed your parents, but it was too late. Or rather, too early; as a child, you longed for it: a home, a guardian, even just one meal a day, a place where you could belong and not fear being killed from forgetting to watch your back or closing your eyes for a couple of goddamn minutes. The world you once knew at age ten was not a kind place, and you were born into that chaos. It was all you had ever known, until the hands of _him_ broke in and wrenched you free from that cursed path of fate while you were at your worst; the instability just made it so _easy_ —

“ _Ja’far_...” Sin says your name softly, urgently, like waking you from a dream. For all you know, you could be dreaming right now, if your eyes squeezed shut are anything to go by. You’re tired as hell, too. _And_ cold.

(But not as cold…?)

“Ja’far, this keeps happening to you; you have these dreams and…” He trails off, and you can hear how lost he sounds in his voice. The pain of not knowing, of not understanding. “I don’t know what you keep seeing in them, but… I’ll help you all I can, I promise.”

You grit your teeth, tighten your fists. You feel the burning sensation of tears in your eyes, and you'll be damned if you begin crying in front of him right now. You hate feeling vulnerable like this; you want to be strong, you want to support, you don't want to be held back by these damn emotions anymore—

"K-Killing..." It's a cracked whisper, barely anything, but Sin hears it.

"What?"

“Killing… I…” The tears begin to fall, and you shake your head, burying your face further into the front of his shirt. “I c...an’t…”

“Killing?” Sin repeats, then he holds you to his chest, gingerly. “Ah, I see now. You’re scared of killing, Ja’far?”

You can’t even speak; your throat is too tight and feels like it’s burning from holding back these tears.

“It’s your decision. You don’t have to kill anyone if you don’t want to,” he whispers gently, and you shake your head vigorously.

“I _have_ to. It’s—it’s the only thing I’m good at,” You inhale a shuddering breath that breaks down into a messy sigh. “Just… killing people and… feeling nothing…”

“You’re feeling something now, aren’t you?”`

You stop for a moment.

“Saying you feel nothing after killing, isn’t that false?” Sin pushes you back, and you blink up at him in confusion. “Right now, these dreams you keep having, it’s all because of what I’ve ordered you to do, isn’t it?”

You bite your lip, glaring down at the bed as you fold your legs beneath you. “Th-That’s not… It’s not just…”

Swiftly, softly, he pushes the collar of your shirt to the side, and you gasp quietly. He brushes his thumb against a scar you had received a couple years back, a pained expression on his face.

“These scars… They’re a constant reminder of your past, aren’t they?”

Instinctively, you reach up and lightly touch the scar yourself, feeling the raised tissue beneath your fingertips. You blink, but remain speechless.

“These as well,” he gestures to both of your legs. “I’ve seen them up close; I know they run far up. I’m not sure how you got them, but they remind you as well, I’m sure.” Sin smiles sadly, his fingers tracing the small portion of the scar that shows from underneath your robes. “And if I remember correctly, you already had them at age ten, just like this. You must have had them long before then.”

You lean back, biting your lip again. Your heart feels heavy with emotions you can’t exactly name, and every spot he touches burns beneath his fingertips.

He moves up again, towards your collarbone, your neck, your cheek, your eyes— he observes you so closely, and you don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to do so you settle for turning red at the attention and allowing more tears to slip out.

“Don’t cry, Ja’far.” Sin murmurs, and he’s smiling now, holding you in his arms. “The scars run deep, the ones you have and the ones you’ve inflicted on others. It is okay to feel things; you do not have to hold back your emotions. I didn’t pick you up that day because I thought you’d make a wonderful killer—although,” He sucks in a breath. “you _are_ my most reliable, skilled, and experienced subordinate...” You smirk, _just_ a little, and Sin continues. “Rather, I chose you because of what I saw. Your memories flashed before my eyes as if they were my own, and I understood. I saw the real you: a child of ten years old, and that’s all. Not an assassin, or some dedicated member of Sham Lash.”

Sin looks into your eyes, once again.

“I saw you, Ja’far.”

You breathe for a moment.

It’s not so cold anymore.

And you remember—you remember why it is that you kill. For the country, yes, but that is only part of it. Even if it hurts, even if you feel the guilt and regret, you remember why you do _any_ of this. To protect this small, budding flower of a country from all harm and threat. To keep this place safe for all the people who inhabit and will inhabit it, to keep it free of crimes and destruction. To ensure that it is a paradise, a paradise dreamed of by you, your king, and everyone else in this world. You kill because it is a part of your job, something you must do in order to serve your king. Your king, who has treated you so well throughout the years, who has given you food, shelter, a family, love and care, everything you thought you had forgotten. To ensure that this country you, the citizens, and most of all, your beloved king, Sinbad, love so dearly, is protected.

This is the least you can do to repay him, after everything he’s done for you.

(Not like you would leave his side, anyways.)

“I know it’s hard, so—” Sin starts getting a little frantic, looking unsure. “if you don’t want to kill, that’s fine. Just say the word, and I will understand, I mean it.”

You smile through your tears, finally; the muscles feel rusty and unused, but the grin on your face is so wide you can’t hold anything back anymore.

“No, Sin, it’s okay. I...I’ll be fine.”

He blinks at you in mild shock. “A...Are you sure?”

“Yes…”

Then, he lets out a loud exhale of breath, his head collapsing onto your shoulder.

“Sin?!”

“Thank goodness…” He laughs, sounding so incredibly relieved, and you just smile, patting his head.

“We should get some rest, my king.”

“Ahh, good idea, Ja’far!” Sin sits up eagerly, but then stops. “Wait. Will you be fine? What if you dream again?”

You blink, then look down, slightly flustered.

“Ah… Well, if you are with me, I... suppose I’ll be fine. Yes.”

You would not be able to describe the face Sin makes at that moment.

But, when he tackles you down onto the mattress, pillows flying up in the air and the sheets becoming wrinkled already, you have just the _slightest_ feeling he’s pleased.

And yes, even with the invisible blood on your hands, all the sins you have committed will not disappear. But for the sake of your country and the most important man in your life, you will do anything in your power to serve—not beneath him, but alongside him.

It took you a while to remember, but the reason you are still here since that day is because you do not wish to leave his side.

(Besides, it is much warmer with him next to you.)


End file.
